


State of Grace

by stephanieebrown



Category: Batgirl (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Can be platonic or romantic, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-28
Updated: 2015-09-28
Packaged: 2018-04-23 21:11:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4892401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stephanieebrown/pseuds/stephanieebrown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It starts with an explosion.<br/>Okay, that’s a lie, but when she tells this story to any possible grandchildren in the future, Stephanie wants it to sound good. So, explosion it is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	State of Grace

It starts with an explosion.

Okay, _that’s a lie,_ but when she tells this story to any possible grandchildren in the future, Stephanie wants it to sound good. So, explosion it is.

In truth, it starts on a cold wet night in Gotham (aren’t they all?) and Stephanie is stuck patrolling solo. In all fairness, she doesn’t truly mind patrolling the streets on her own. After Team Batgirl was whittled down to one after Wendy left, she started getting used to the whole ‘real’ solo gig. The Wayne boys and girl are stuck in a ‘very important’ charity gala over in the grand opera house and Stephanie is torn between her jealousy, over the fact that they get to stay nice and warm whilst possibly snacking on hors d'oeuvres, and smugness that she’s not the one stuck in fancy dress simpering up to Gotham’s rich and rude.

Well, in a way she _is_ in fancy-dress, just of a different kind. After Bruce came back and generously upgraded Firewall and all of her gadgets, he also (with the textile skills from Alfred, she’s sure) gifted her with a new cape. Just as sleek and lightweight and totally eggplant purple as before. Only now it’s a paracape. And she’s _loving it._

The past few nights, Steph has been trying to get used to being able to glide across the Gotham skyline and tonight is just another night where she possibly makes a complete idiot out of herself by careening uncontrollably into a GCPD blimp. _That was one time okay?!_

It’s nearing one-thirty when Steph decides she might head home for the night. Surely Bruce has managed to escape the party for some precious patrol time by now? Either way, there’s not much going on in the streets tonight. The cold must have driven most of the criminals inside for the time being before they acclimatise to the chilly temperature.

It’s when she’s half way back home that she sees it: a flash of red. Standing rigid, Steph glances around, looking for either Robin or Red Robin but neither announce themselves. Although, she wouldn’t put it past either of them to leave her out of the loop or just plain mess with her. With a huff, Steph begins scouring the alley ways looking for anything out of place. She almost gives up looking for something or someone who obviously is not there when a wet cough alerts her of company.

In the alley below she finds her flash of red and it’s not Damian or Tim. The red belongs to a shiny, crimson helmet whose owner is pressing a gloved hand tightly to their side.

The Red Hood _A.K.A_ Jason Todd _A.K.A_ formerly dead Robin with homicidal tendencies.

Well _shit._

The Red Hood isn’t aware of her presence yet, either that or he’s just ignoring her. _Well it wouldn’t surprise her._ As she draws closer, Steph can make out an ugly dark wet mark seeping past what his hand can hold in. He’s hurt. Possibly badly. Most probably a bullet wound.

Double shit.

_Dear Diary_ , Steph wonders exasperatedly, _murderous former hero and kind of older brother of my ex-boyfriend bleeding out here. What’s a girl to do?_

Stephanie is debating calling for back up – she’s been warned of the Red Hood’s dangerous reputation by Babs and Tim and Bruce and probably the rest too. The _last_ thing she wants to do is get caught up in another family feud. Her fingers are halfway to her communicator before she stops at the sound of Red Hood’s pained grunt.

He’s injured and any help she calls for might not get here in time. Stephanie grimaces as she makes the decision to stay. _Screw it,_ she thinks, _what’s the worst that could happen?_

She jinxed herself then and there.

Before Steph can decide on what to say for her approach that won’t have him automatically aiming a gun between her eyes, he turns to face her.

“You gonna stand there all night, Blondie or are you gonna help a poor, injured pilgrim from bleeding out all over this lovely back alley?”

Steph freezes. _Well of course he noticed you, you big lug,_ she berates herself, _he’s not stupid._ She scowls at him before placing her hands on her hips and standing as tall as possible, hoping to make herself look as confident and in command as she can.

“I’m just deciding whether or not you deserve my help,” she tells him hotly.

“And if I don’t?” he asks.

“Then I’ll call Batman and he can deal with you.”

He snorts and shakes his helmeted head but Steph notices his body flinch at the movement. Must have been a good shot.

“Which one?”

Stephanie stares at him for a moment, dumbfounded. _Which what? What had he said?_ Then the meaning of his words dawn on her and she hastens to reply.

“ _The_ Batman,” she says boisterously, “you know, B-man, the big one-point-oh – not that there’s anything wrong with two-point-oh - but I mean the big, tall and grumpy – oh you know what? Never mind.”

He laughs at her then and Steph’s not sure if she should feel smug that she’s managed to humour him or annoyed that her awkward bluster is funny. She’s going with the latter.

“Oh screw, B-man,” she says hotly and draws closer after he shows no hostility towards her, “you’ll have to do with just B-girl tonight.”

“Fine by me,” Hood grunts but he’s still chuckling at her screw up and she frowns at him.

“What happened to you anyway?” she asks and reaches out to take his hand away to get a glimpse of his injury.

Red Hood flinches and smacks her hand away from him.

“Don’t,” he growls in an attempt to sound menacing but it falls short.

Steph rolls her eyes and tries again despite his protest.

“Whatever tough guy,” she snarks, “just let me look m’kay?”

He grunts in protest but Steph ignores him and is happy to find that he allows her to move his hand out of the way. Through the blood stains, she can see the entry wound cut straight through the weak spot between the two patches of Kevlar in his suit, just under the hem of his leather jacket. _Fucking typical,_ she thinks. It’s obviously a very good shot.

Not wanting to poke at the wound to avoid hurting him, Stephanie withdraws and places Hood’s glove back over his side which only elicits a sharp hiss of pain. She winces.

“Sorry,” she apologises, “you’ll just have to keep pressure on it for now.”

“Because that wasn’t what I was already doing,” he says and Steph can’t tell but she imagines that he’s smirking under the helmet.

_Not that she’d know what that smirk would look like,_ she realises. She’s only seen one or two rare photographs of Jason before and they had been from when he was, like, fourteen or something. A dopey kid who looked blissfully oblivious of the man he would become. If she remembers correctly, he had been smiling in the photos but Stephanie can’t apply the same smiling face to the man before her. If her estimation is correct, then he’s twenty years-old now. Hardly a dopey kid anymore.

_Twenty. Shit,_ Steph thinks. He’s practically her age, only a year apart. She shudders as she thinks up a terrifying scenario. This could easily have been her bleeding out in an alley way. She’d been less than an inch from dying after she’d escaped Black Mask all that time ago, she knows that. But what if she _had_ died? What if it was her who was resurrected and then went on a murderous rampage through her home city? It sickens her but Steph can easily see herself in Jason’s place. Dying, then coming back to find that Tim was Robin again (as if she had never been there at all) and feeling angry and betrayed at the lack of her Robin memorial in the cave or vengeance for her loss of life. All too easily, Stephanie can imagine herself putting a bullet in the brain of everyone who ever did her wrong.

Shaking herself, Stephanie goes back to studying the man before her.

“You alright there, Blondie?” her companion asks sarcastically, his voice vaguely mechanical sounding through the helmet, “you looked away with the fairies for a moment there.”

Stephanie grimaces.

“You kidding?” she says with false cheer, aware that it falls flat, “I’m _super_.”

And now she’s imagining him rolling his eyes at her.

“Yeah okay,” she allows, “You got a place you’re going? ‘Cause I know the hospital is out of the question and-”

“I got a safe house not far from here,” he cuts her off.

She heaves a noticeable sigh of relief.

“Well good, because I doubt my mom would have been happy giving refuge to a bleeding criminal.”

“Your words wound me, Blondie,” he chuckles again and Steph smiles despite her peculiar situation.

“I’m sure you’ll live,” she says as she hauls his unoccupied arm around her shoulder.

Then she winces. _Shit._

“I mean – that was – what I meant-”

“Don’t worry about it,” Jason interrupts her again and Steph isn’t sure if his shoulders are shaking from laughter or exhaustion.

Deciding the best approach would be to keep her mouth firmly shut, Steph silently lets most of Jason’s weight fall on her and they begin their awkward shuffle in the direction that he’s steering her. They’re almost at the mouth of the alley way when Steph decides to ask Jason if he’d rather make the journey via street or rooftop. Roof top would be safer – less people – but she’s not sure if he’d manage leaping from roof to roof in his condition. Taking the street would gain attention from passers-by and Steph would rather not see a photo of Batgirl helping out the Red Hood on the front page of the Gotham Gazette. Bruce would definitely have a fit – but then again, Steph’s feeling rebellious tonight and she hasn’t given a damn about what Bruce thinks of her since she came back from Africa. Much, anyway.

Before she can open her mouth, the quiet of the night is interrupted by the sound of angry yelling and harsh slaps of numerous pairs of boots on the pavement. Then there’s gunfire too. Whipping her head around to follow the source of the noise, Steph begins to wish she hadn’t curiously followed that flash of red in the first place.

From the other end of the alley a group of guys are running towards them. A group of big, burly, angry-looking guys with guns to be exact. Stephanie sighs in desperation from where she’s frozen with the half–limp trouble-maker in her arms. _Dear Diary,_ she grimaces, _I should have just gone home._

“Ey! Hood!” the biggest and angriest of the men yell, “We ain’t done with you!”

“Why, Hood,” Stephanie says in deadpan, “you didn’t tell me you made friends.”

“Yeah, yeah, very funny, Blondie,” he grunts, “now move!”

And then they’re running. Or rather, half running – half stumbling. Stephanie is silently impressed by Jason’s ability to moves so easily – she guesses it’s a sudden burst of adrenalin – but even he can’t ignore the bullet in his side and so he grabs onto her and they run hand in hand in the opposite direction of their assailants.

For a while, Steph doesn’t pay attention to where they’re headed until Jason slows down beside her and she notices they’re at the riverfront where the warehouse district meets the crummy streets. _Well, at least there are no people around,_ she thinks.

They scurry-jog until they are lost in a maze of shipping containers and Stephanie can’t tell if they’re heading in a certain direction or if they’re just going around in circles but Jason seems to know where he’s going so she trusts his judgement because, hey! She may as well have done it all by this point.

They slow down to a stop behind a blue container and Steph can hear their followers chasing them because _damn do they know nothing of the element of surprise?_

Suddenly the footsteps silence and Steph is about to ask Jason what his next _oh-so-great plan_ is when there’s a clink and the sound of something metallic rolling across the concrete at her feet. She knows what it is even before she looks but she spares a glance at the ground anyway and takes a second to gulp at the sight of the grenade before she acts.

“Move!” she yells at Jason and yanks him away from their station as fast as she can to put as much distance between themselves and the grenade as possible.

It’s no use of course, a moment later it goes off and they’re not nearly far enough away to be safe and with an undignified yelp (from herself or Jason she can’t tell) the two of them are thrown into the air.

_And there’s the explosion she’ll tell her hypothetical grandkids about._

Stephanie hits a shipping container with a sharp thud, her shoulder taking most of the impact. She feels something _crack_ in her midsection and can’t help the sharp gasp that escapes her lips. There’s fire everywhere and Steph’s face feels hot and sore. For a moment she just leans against the container to regain her bearings before she remembers her companion.

“Hood!” she yells but it comes out all choked sounding because her throat is parched and sore and it hurts to speak.

Looking around desperately, Stephanie finds him in a heap not far from where she landed and drawing closer, she finds him unresponsive. Pulling off a glove each, she finds a pulse at his wrist and is relieved to find that he is merely unconscious.

_If we get out of this, Jason Todd,_ she thinks, _I’m gonna kick your ass so hard._

_When we get out,_ she amends, _not if, when._

Hauling him over her uninjured shoulder in a fireman’s carry, Steph gets the hell out of there. The men from before have cleared off. Either they believe them to be dead or they think they’ve done enough to get their message across. Steph doesn’t really care either way. Mid-run, she calls the fire service over her comm. before they’re back into the relative safety of alley ways and shadows. Her adrenalin is burning out fast and Steph is beginning to feel every ache and pain in her battered body but she can’t stop yet.

Slowing down, she hoists Jason off her shoulder and sits him against an apartment building.

“Hey,” she says, shaking his shoulder roughly, “hey!”

Jason stirs and seems completely out of it for a moment before he tries to bolt away from her.

“Hey!” she repeats, this time softer, “it’s okay, they’re gone, we’re safe – well kinda. I need to know where this safe house of yours is.” 

With a pained grunt, Jason sluggishly points over her shoulder at a third-story fired escape across the street and Stephanie assumes that it leads to his apartment, _one of his apartments anyway._

_Well that’s convenient._

Scurrying across the street, with great difficulty, Steph hoist and pulls and pushes Jason up the fire escape to the third story window. She gazes inside first to find an empty and musty room. Unable to gain confirmation on their destination from Jason who is now worryingly quiet, Steph takes initiative and uses the sharp end of a batarang to wedge the window open. Climbing in first, she then pulls Jason through, hands gripped tight under his arms.

It’s dark inside so after laying Jason down, Steph scurries for a light switch, and turns it on with a click that resonates through the quiet of the room. Now bathed in light, she takes a second to draw in her surroundings. The apartment itself, from what she can see anyway, is minimal but organised and tidy. The thin layer of dust atop the mantelpiece is the only tell-tale that no one has been here in a few months at least.

_Okay, Steph,_ she thinks, _the night isn’t over yet._

After gaining her bearings, Steph scurries back to Jason on the floor at stares at him for a second, dumbstruck. _Okay, let’s do this._  She raps smartly on his helmet with her knuckles in an attempt to ruse him.

“Jason,” she whispers, then louder, “Jason!”

She hears a low moan which turns into a grumble and then a cough.

“Could you try saying that a bit louder, Blondie?” comes a weak protest.

Stephanie refrains laughter and instead composes her face into a serious mask. Or, at least she tries to. Concern knots her eyebrows at how frail his voice sounds.

“Yeah okay,” she says, “I don’t know where anything in this place is so directing me to a first aid kit would be great. Also, I need to get your helmet off to check for concussion. It would also be a good idea not to die on me because that would be awkward and…”

She’s babbling again so Steph shuts her mouth in a tight line even as Jason chuckles again.

“First aid kit’s in the bathroom cabinet,” he says and with a silent nod, Stephanie goes and retrieves it.

Coming back into the main room, Steph kneels next to her patient and opens the case. It contains an impressive stock of bandages and needles for stitching among other things.

“And there’s a button…behind…jaw-” Jason tries to tell her but is halted due to a rough coughing fit, “damn,” he jokes whilst Steph manoeuvres to remove his helmet, “gotta lay off the smokes.”

Steph rolls her eyes as she finds the aforementioned button and presses it. With a hiss, there is an unlocking sound and Jason lifts his head off the floorboards as much as he can so that Steph can pull the helmet away. Discarding the helmet, Stephanie watches as it rolls away before turning her head and spending more time than she should cataloguing the features of the man bleeding on the floor before her.

He looks…different to how she had imagined, although, Stephanie’s not entirely sure what that is. Maybe she assumed he’d look more…battle worn? With gruesome scars puckering his face and stretching an angry snarl so often directed at the Batman. That’s probably why Steph is surprised to see that he resembles the photographs of his fourteen year-old self uncannily. Oh he’s noticeably older of course, more mature and grown up, especially with that plume of white hair sticking to his sweaty scalp. More than anything, Stephanie is surprised by how…human he looks, as opposed to the stuff of nightmares that everyone keeps telling her about.

Maybe it’s just the bullet wound that keeps him passive.

Frowning, Stephanie’s attention turns to the wound in question and immediately starts her treatment. Cutting the armoured Kevlar away from his torso (she’d rather not deal with the arduous task of removing his uniform over his arms and head) she retrieves the surgical pliers from the kit. There’s no painless way to do this without anaesthetic so Stephanie just goes for it: gently prods at the entry wound to widen it somewhat before plunging the pliers into the bloody hole, clasping the offending bullet and tugs.

To be honest, it all feels a bit like a game of _‘Operation’_ and the only reaction she gets from Jason is a strained grunt. Either he’s used to this sort of board game or he’s too far gone to scream. Stephanie’s hoping for the former and, silently, she cleans the wound with antiseptic liquid before stitching it up as quickly as possible and beginning with the bandage.

Jason hisses when the liquid smothers his tender flesh and grunts when the needle threats through his skin but quietens after a while and obediently lifts his torso up from the ground, as much as he can, in an arch so that Steph can wrap the bandage around his midsection. She ties it tightly to hold pressure on the wound before sitting back on her heels. Panting slightly from the tension, Stephanie allows herself some congratulations. The hard part is over.

She removes her bloody gloves (which she should have got rid of before the emergency surgery but hey ho – _priorities_ ) and sets them on the floor before retrieving her small flashlight from the utility belt still slung around her waist. She flashes it in Jason’s blurry eyes and comes to a vague conclusion that he does indeed have a concussion, however minor.

Finally sitting back, Stephanie lets out a breath she feels she’s been holding for millennia. Closing her eyes, Stephanie lets her head tilt back in exhaustion.

“You sure do know how to patch up good.”

Stephanie cracks an eye open at the man sprawled on the ground and allows herself a tired smile creep onto her face.

“Just so you know, I probably have more medical knowledge than all you bat boys put together. You don’t spend a year as an aid-worker in Africa without picking up a few things,” she says, “also, my mom is a nurse.”

“Noted.”

Stephanie looks at him for a moment before slowly getting to her feet.

“Alright, I’m assuming you have a bed,” she says, “now let’s get you in it.”

Jason grins and she narrows her eyes at him.

“ _Not like that.”_

“’Course not, Blondie,” he jokes but closes his eyes, “but I think I’d rather stay here.”

“Sure about that?” she raises an eyebrow, “it’d probably be better if you were more comfortable.”

“And right now I’m more comfortable here,” Jason yawns.

“Fine,” Steph says contemptuously, spinning around a grabbing the throw draped over the back of the musty couch.

She throws it over him messily, but makes sure he won’t suffocate under it, before kicking off her boots and unclasping her utility belt. As she’s pulling the cowl and cape off, she feels Jason’s gaze on her and meets his eyes.

“Yes?”

“What are you doing?” he asks incredulously.

Steph rolls her eyes as if the answer is the most obvious in the world and drapes her cape over her upper half as she snuggles into the dusty leather of the sofa.

“I’m not having you dying in the night after everything I’ve just done to save your sorry butt.”

Jason glares at her for a moment before shrugging. “Okay, whatever,” he says, “I just hope you don’t snore, Blondie.”

Steph snorts into her cape before curling in tighter for warmth.

“ _So welcoming,”_ she jokes but Jason offers no reply.

After a while, she decides to try again, “Jason?”

“Yeah, Blondie?” Jason’s voice is muffled.

“It’s Stephanie.”

“Okay, Stephanie.”

They fall asleep with light on but Stephanie doesn’t mind.


End file.
